“Well, ah, no, I don’t think I am,” said the captain.

“You’d maybe rather have a quiet walk, then.  For my part I approve of young men who are prudent, and don’t care to exercise themselves too violently.  Violent exercise puts you into too great a heat, and then you’re taken with a chill, and lots of mischief is done that way.  Bee, lend me your arm, love.  I’m more recovered now, but I did have to hurry after you, and that’s a fact.”

Determined women very often have their way, and Mrs. Bell had the satisfaction of walking in front with Beatrice, while Captain Bertram brought up the rear in Matty’s company.

Sophy and Alice Bell no longer belonged to the group.  They had found matters so intolerably dull that they started off on their own hook to find partners for tennis.

Mrs. Bell, as she walked in front with Beatrice heard Matty’s little and inane giggles, and her heart swelled within her.

“Poor young man, he is devoted,” she whispered to her companion.  “Ah, dear me, Beatrice, I know you sympathize with me; when one has a dear child’s fate trembling in the balance it’s impossible not to be anxious.”

Mrs. Bell’s face was so solemn, and her words so portentous, that Beatrice was really taken in.  It was stupid of her to misunderstand the good woman, but she did.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked, turning to look at Mrs. Bell.  “Whose fate is trembling in the balance?”

If it had been possible for light blue eyes of a very common shade and shape to wither with a look, poor Beatrice would never have got over that terrible moment.

Stout Mrs. Bell dropped her companion’s arm, moved two or three paces away, and accompanied her scorching glance with words of muffled thunder.

“Beatrice Meadowsweet, you are either green with jealousy, or you are a perfect goose.”

CHAPTER XX.

YOU CAN TAKE ANY RANK.

Beatrice was not, in any sense of the word, a conventional girl.  Her nature was independent, and from her earliest days she had been allowed a great deal of liberty.  While her father lived he had trained her to love his tastes, to respond to his ideas; he had shared his thoughts with her, and as these thoughts happened to be original, and even slightly tinged with latent genius, the young girl had from the first taken a broad view of life.  She was naturally intelligent; and to read and think for herself became a delight to her.

Mr. Meadowsweet died when Beatrice was twelve and then that further thing happened which so often makes an unselfish woman really noble.  Beatrice had to support the burdens of another.  Mrs. Meadowsweet was a most loving and affectionate character; but she was not as strong mentally as her daughter.  She did not know that she leant on Beatrice, but she did.  The effect of all this was that Miss Meadowsweet grew up something as the wild flowers do, with perfect liberty, and yet governed by the gracious and kindly laws which nature sets about her children.